Blanket

(no excuses, none necessary)

I mimed in silence, rode rainbows to Venice, through cloudy gondoliers with typhoon paddles, to the glistening summer evening ponds lit up by fireflies and bonfire light.
...yeah I drained my skull in the basement,
cleared out mucus, marveled at the miracle blank canvass, the second-third-fourth-chancedness, depackaging, gleaming white casement, superficie, public relations statement, another image replacement.

Joy is no longer obsolete - I've got blastoff feet, enough-strength-to-achieve-orbit feet.
Regeneration - reinvention, I've achieved meaning, self-deception recognition, so cancel that part of you that is a whore
You are better than this, my dear one, and you can ask for more.

Why do it? Why give in? When nothing is forbidden except the word sin — you give away your cookies and end up in the dust bin.

Calm

Happiness can be deadly. Procrastinate amid generalized joy; the blog must face this new steady state. You can still write - but you don't have to shout; tired of the tongue-tied fistfight. You can't worry about calm. So invent a new category.

Once-a-year light at 8:30pm tonight. The house bottom bricks past the point of light but the treetops turn a sunset shade of green with the last rays licking leaves. Notice it all, the firefly-night delight, swing-sitting take-in-everything insight, meander on the bike, sackclothed women with hoses on the lawn, group goodbyes upon a porch, summer not for long. Tightrope walkers tree to tree in Trinity B, I stick hands to highfive strangers, oh yellow-green jerseys - go Brazil! - dogs, smirk, always dogs - please, have a kid instead.

I'm stuck on a stunning white dress, fluffy bathrobe, warm towel, my sweet success, half-baked bluster, waffles I insist are morally provocative, but a first-prize smile takes the cake. Who is to blame for this dance-sing-body-mind harmony? A woman named Justin Timberlake.

Ms. Rhythm had stopped my heart, an arrhythmia, mumbling mumbletypeg; she rained vicious undulating waves of vocab from the sky, she wanted logic to die; and so whenever I tried it felt like a lie - that is, to prompt an effect - your deliberate intentions are just like a shipwreck. She would sing mind-wringing rubbish that rang like a siren: You are sleeping and beautiful. You will never know yourself. Creep alone, unconscious as you type Sanskrit-speak, spinning at perfectly harmoniously satanically satellite suborbital outer-space speeds, forever peeking at the pink edge of dawn from the dark side of the moon.

(And so I've decided to fire her!)

6 things that bother me about Optimus Prime

1. His name isn't Optimus Del Sexy.
2. Energon, smenergon. Trailer-trucks run on diesel fuel, so Optimus is far from carbon-neutral.
3. The Autobots are awesome mech-aliens with the firepower to destroy whole cities. You'd think their leader would maybe have a girlfriend.
   
4. Tens of thousands of kids dress like him every year — but has Optimus ever given you Hallowe'en candy?
5. I'm disturbed by all these scenes where Jazz keeps riding up into the trailer.
6. Humanity-destroying evil is a turnoff, but at least Megatron knows what he wants.

Funniest thing I overheard this morning

'It's such a shame you are whoring yourself, just so you can one day publish a book about what a whore you are.'

More pelican notes

If I ever get old I want to be like you.

I just listened to you sum up the meaning of life, in under two minutes, and I want to listen again and again

Pure feeling wells, cannot dwell or oversell – let’s call things as they are, so we can be sure of just one thing, the fullness you find feeding hungry people, there are those in particular who ask me for just a little more, and there is always more.

If I have to start the conversation well I’ll tell about my appreciation for the sun. If you ask me anything I give detailed replies.

My head aches, I’ve been soaring. Can’t make sense of an old man’s epiphany, expanding to include the dawn of the century.

Full of
and overflowing
So thankful for what I’m owing

Fear accusation of triteness; I don’t express my love for you simply out of politeness.